Wrong Turn 1

With only four days left of his vacation, Edward decided to relax properly and enjoy his freedom to the fullest.

In the early morning, sunlight gently spilled across the earth, as though draping everything in a veil of gold.

Edward strode toward the wildly designed Fenrir Heavy Motorcycle. The instant he swung himself onto it, he felt the firm seat beneath him.

He twisted the throttle, and in an instant, the engine let out a roar like the deep growl of a beast. The sound echoed through the quiet neighborhood, as if trying to wake the entire district from its slumber.

The black body gleamed with a cold, dazzling sheen beneath the sunlight, every line displaying an unparalleled sense of power.

"Let's go!" Edward shouted spiritedly. He put on his sunglasses, and the motorcycle shot off like an unbridled stallion, vanishing down the street in an instant.

The intense thrill brought by speed swept away all the tension and exhaustion he had accumulated over the past few days like a surging tide.

The wind howled past his ears with a piercing whistle, while the scenery on both sides flew backward like a slideshow. That wild, exhilarating feeling let him truly experience the vitality and passion a young man should have.

He headed west, filled with anticipation for the unknown journey ahead and intending to experience a real road trip from start to finish.

(Of course, everyone should remember to wear a helmet in real life. Safety always came first.)

However, good times were always short-lived. As the saying went, "cool for less than three seconds."

As he sped along the winding mountain roads of West Virginia, the long line of vehicles that suddenly appeared ahead froze the smile on his face.

That's right, it was a traffic jam. Judging from the dense mass of cars before him and the chaotic scene, traffic clearly would not be moving anytime soon.

"Tch." Edward clicked his tongue in annoyance. His gaze swept around, quickly landing on an inconspicuous forest path nearby.

A sign stood crookedly at the entrance to the path, its words glaringly clear: "No Entry."

But upon closer inspection, although the road was narrow, it was fairly level and did not appear to have any major obstacles.

He considered it briefly. He was no ordinary person, after all. Taking a shortcut should not be a problem.

So Edward slowly guided Fenrir onto the small path.

The motorcycle tires rolled over dirt and fallen leaves with a soft rustling sound, as if playing a unique melody for the silent forest.

Light filtered through layers of branches and leaves, scattering mottled patches of varying shapes across the ground.

The air was filled with the damp scent of grass and trees mixed with the rich fragrance of soil, creating an unusual sense of tranquility.

Before long, a lonely abandoned gas station came into view.

The station looked utterly dilapidated. Large patches of paint had peeled from the walls, exposing the dark gray beneath, as though telling of the years it had endured.

The gas pumps were covered in rust, as if time had forgotten them here.

An old man in faded work pants sat in a rocking chair by the entrance, casually holding a hunting rifle. His head swayed gently with the chair as he dozed in boredom.

Fenrir's engine shattered the silence and startled the old man awake.

The old man slowly opened his cloudy eyes. When he saw the person before him clearly, he visibly froze.

He had lived around here for most of his life and seen all kinds of people, yet he had never encountered such a handsome young man.

Edward's face was like a masterpiece painstakingly sculpted by God with every ounce of care. Every feature was perfectly placed, without the slightest flaw.

A flash of astonishment crossed the old man's murky eyes. His mouth opened slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but he suddenly forgot what he meant to say and could only stare blankly at Edward.

Edward nodded amiably to the old man, then removed his sunglasses and looked around.

His gaze eventually settled on a yellowed, worn map on the gas station wall. A winding trail had been marked on it in red, its line like a mysterious vein stretching into the unknown distance.

Seeing the familiar setting—the iconic run-down gas station and the striking red mark on the map—Edward immediately thought of the classic horror movie, Wrong Turn.

The corners of his mouth rose unconsciously, forming an amused smile.

It seemed his originally ordinary road trip was destined not to be boring. An exciting adventure might be about to begin.

Edward said nothing more. He put his sunglasses back on, mounted Fenrir, and sped without hesitation toward the path marked in red on the map.

The old man in the rocking chair watched his retreating figure. His lips moved as though he wanted to call out, but in the end, he merely sighed helplessly and slowly closed his eyes, as if powerless to stop what was about to happen.

Fenrir demonstrated its outstanding performance on the rugged mountain road, effortlessly clearing every obstacle as though traveling over level ground.

Its powerful engine drove it racing through the mountains.

Soon, Edward spotted car parts scattered all over the ground around a bend. They lay strewn across the road in disarray, as if they had gone through a violent collision.

Nearby was a pool of blood that had not yet completely dried. Under the sunlight, it gave off an eerie air.

It seemed the plot had already begun. Clearly, someone had already met with misfortune.

Edward stopped decisively. With a thought, he instantly stored Fenrir in the system space.

He looked up at the dense forest overhead. Sunlight streamed through gaps in the branches and leaves, forming shafts of golden light.

With a light tap of his foot, he shot silently into the sky like an arrow released from a bow and came to a steady hover in midair.

His view from the air was extremely broad, and he quickly locked onto his target.

In the distance, two men and two women were fleeing frantically toward the forest. Their steps were panicked and hurried, as though something terrifying was chasing them from behind.

Their faces were filled with fear and despair, and their eyes revealed a deep terror of the unknown danger. They kept looking back, appearing as though Evil Ghosts truly were in hot pursuit behind them.

Not far behind them, a battered pickup truck came charging after them recklessly.

Three large, grotesque-looking mutants stood in the truck bed. One waved a machete with a Sawtooth blade, its edge flashing coldly in the sun as if ready to reap lives at any moment; another grinned and let out a shrill, monstrous laugh that echoed through the silent forest and sent chills down the spine; the last had only one eye, and that eye gleamed with cruel, bloodthirsty light, as though he could not wait to get his hands on his prey.

Edward hovered quietly in the air, calmly observing the life-and-death chase unfolding below.

He remembered the movie's plot clearly. Of the four people fleeing for their lives, the one leading them should be Chris, a medical student who had taken this shortcut to make it to an interview.

The other three—Jessie, Callie, and Scott—were unlucky campers whose originally pleasant trip had turned into a nightmare.

"Such a classic opening." Edward stroked his chin. Not only was he not nervous in the slightest, but he even felt a little entertained.